Nat's Boys
by Nienna Nir
Summary: It was Captain America's team, ask anyone you like. Anyone, that is, who wasn't Phil Coulson. Not that Phil would necessarily tell you the truth, he'd offer his half-indulgent smile and a knowing look. But he knew. He knew who'd built the team from the ground up. Part of the Series: Coulson Lives, but the Avengers might be the death of him.


If anyone had told him the truly astonishing changes that would take place in ten years he never would have believed it. Phil Coulson looked up from the spot he'd commandeered at the bar in Stark's rec room. He hadn't actually been working for a while now but he'd kept up the pretense. Sometimes he just felt more relaxed on the fringe of the never ending slumber party that was the Avengers.

Tonight it was just the team. Pepper had gone to DC that morning to discuss contracts for new light weight body armor. Betty was speaking at a conference in Miami. Jane had gone to Juno on field research and had taken Darcy with her. So tonight it was superhero's night in. Which should have meant Avengers tower was more quite than usual, seeing as four of the usual suspects were missing.

Of course it didn't really mean that at all.

Clint was occupied shouting at the TV, playing Nintendoland, stealing bites of pizza as he flung stars at Ninja Castle.

Tony and Steve were heckling him from the sofa as they ate. Tony was doing most of the heckling but Steve had learned to hold his own. Thor was busy wolfing down the better part of a pepperoni and sausage directly from the box per his usual and Bruce had stretched out on the far end of the sofa, watching them in amusement.

Natasha was in one of the arm chairs pretending to read as she picked at her salad. Phil could say with certainty that it was a sham, though her attention never seemed to stray from the page and she turned each at a steady interval. Still, Phil knew she was paying more attention to her teammates than her novel.

It was Captain America's team. No one questioned that, not even Tony Stark. Iron Man would rise to the occasion if he was needed, even crack down on the good Captain if he thought it necessary but in the end even he would let the Captain make the call. For Thor, who's long years as a warrior made him even more qualified to lead it was even less of a question, and much to everyone's amazement the Hulk had utter faith in their leader. Hawkeye and Widow were used to taking orders and SHIELD's orders were to follow Captain America. So they did.

But in the end it all came down to how you chose to quantify possession, because a team doesn't, by necessity, belong to its leader. Any creation, whether great work of art or microscopic circuit or gold plated titanium armor, belongs firstly to its creator. One would assume that the Avengers were forged in blood and fire and alien invasion and one would assume wrong. The Battle for New York was the spinning rims. The drafting, the construction, the ground work had begun almost a decade before when a half cocked sniper had decided to bring in his mark rather than kill her.

Clint had come into SHIELD just this side of completely fubar. A screwed up childhood and an even more significantly screwed up early adulthood will do that to a person. He bounced around from handler to handler for his first seven months and when Fury was finally at the end of his rope and ready to hang Clint with it, Phil had gritted his teeth and asked to be assigned to him.

Phil became Clint's handler and Clint stayed with SHIELD. And two years later Clint made a call that made Phil wonder exactly what he'd been thinking to volunteer in the first place.

Phil knew danger when he saw it and Natasha Romanov reeked of it the way graveyards reek of death. He wasn't convinced that she wasn't going to kill them all in their sleep and he probably hadn't been wrong in that concern but Clint had bonded with her on some level, as much as Clint was capable of bonding with anyone and Phil couldn't deny how remarkable that was.

He and Clint were friends, close friends. He knew for a fact that Clint considered Phil the closest friend he'd ever had. But that was a relative term. Clint did not let people close, not Phil, not anyone. They spent time off together going out, watching bad TV, ordering takeout and renting movies. But Clint kept his guard up, constantly. The things Phil actually knew about Clint's history all came from his official file and there wasn't much there. Clint didn't talk about the past and good luck getting into his head because that had better defenses than Fort Knox.

That was why the shift brought on by Natasha's presence was so striking. It wasn't as if he were suddenly talking about his feelings and delving into his psychological issues, but his personal space seemed to have contracted. He'd always been a character looking for a laugh but now his amusement was easy and casual as often as it was brash and bold. Phil hadn't taken time to think about it at first because Clint seemed to be functioning better with Natasha around, he was less abrasive with the other senior agents and less prone to insubordinate outbursts and that was a godsend. Best not to rock the boat by questioning it.

The real change, however, came four months into Natasha's first year at SHIELD;

* * *

"Coulson?" Clint's voice was raspy and Phil peeled one eye open, the other rapidly swelling shut. He swallowed a pained groan, shivering against the cold damp stone floor at his back and forced himself to make eye contact with his asset. Clint's expression was as close to outright fear as Phil could ever remember seeing it. "Sir?"

"I'll live," Phil choked out. He desperately hoped it was true. He was fairly certain his leg was broken, several ribs were cracked, and he could feel the tell tale signs of internal damage to his lower body. He winced, letting his one good eye take in the cell. That statement was probably woefully unrealistic.

"They roughed you up pretty bad," Clint's cuffed hands were shaking slightly as he reached out to wipe the blood from Phil's face, though Coulson suspected that was probably more from pain than fear.

"You don't look so great yourself," He observed. Clint was sporting what looked like a broken nose and a fractured cheekbone and there was a knife wound in his forearm. Clearly he'd put up a good fight before their captors had got their hands on him.

"Do you have any idea of the lay of the land?" Clint asked hopefully. Phil shook his head.

"They're careful," Phil sighed. "These cuffs are pretty well secured, what about the door?" Clint shook his head grimly. Clearly he hadn't been idle while the resident goons had been introducing their fists to Phil's kidneys.

"Right," Phil sighed resignedly. "We're going to have to wait for extraction. I ordered Romanov to pull back and call it in, she can have them here in less than three hours."

"Sir, you're not going to make it three hours," Clint pointed out. Phil took a deep breath before meeting Clint's gaze.

"Probably not," he acknowledged. "But you are. As long as they're interrogating me they probably won't bother with you. They threw me back in here so that you'd get a look at their handiwork. They'll be back for me soon."

"Phil," Clint's voice shook.

"Natasha will bring backup," Phil insisted.

"You don't even like her," Clint pointed out. "She makes you crazy, you only put up with her for me."

"She'll do her job," Phil answered with conviction, not denying it. He didn't really dislike Natasha, he just wasn't that attached to her. He had taken her on for Clint, largely because most of the other handlers were terrified of her. But she was competent and if she expected to get out of this debacle in better shape than he and Clint were, she'd do as ordered. "You just need to hold out until backup arrives."

"Phil, I don't want to watch you die here," Clint admitted.

"I'm not looking forward to it either," Phil let out a huff. "It can't be helped. They've already done a number on me, we both need to face facts. Unless we miraculously get out of here in the next twenty minutes I'm probably not going to make it. I'll hold out as long as I can to keep their attention off of you and Natasha is going to get you out. She's probably already to the check point by now." There was muffled, coarse, laughter out in the hall and the cell door banged open on its hinges before one of the thugs tossed a crumpled body into the room. She tumbled like a dried leaf, her red hair splaying out on the dank floor as she rolled to a stop.

"Great," Clint sighed, wincing as the guards slammed the door shut with gruff laughter.

"They gone?" Natasha whispered, not even her eyelids moving.

"Son of a... Tasha!" Clint swore under his breath as Natasha rolled easily onto her knees.

"Romanov," Phil hissed out angrily.

"Relax," She snapped, fidgeting with her cuffs. "I already called in backup."

"Then why are you not waiting for them!?" Phil barked out. He let out a rasping cough, spitting up blood and he felt Clint's bound hands reaching out to steady him.

"Come in to get a guy out and that's the thanks I get," she mocked lightly reaching out to grasp Clint's cuffs, tossing her own aside.

"How the hell did you do that?" Clint demanded as she picked the lock.

"Tenacity," she replied. The lock clicked open and she moved to Coulson's cuffs.

"You allowed yourself to be captured?" Coulson demanded.

"It wasn't allowed so much as it was carefully contrived to coincide with your return to this cell," she replied, unlocking his cuffs and turning back to Clint, tearing a strip from his tatter undershirt and using it to bandage the gash in his arm.

"Tell me there's a plan," Clint begged. "Please tell me you came in here with a plan!" She slapped him in the back of the head.

"You're going to have to carry Coulson," She stated, scrambling to her feet and peering out the narrow slit in the door. "He can't walk on that leg. Pull him back behind the door and get ready to run when I say."

"Run where?" Coulson demanded.

"The opposite direction of the sound of dying," Natasha clipped.

"No," Clint's brow furrowed. "Nat, you can't be serious. Our best chance of getting out of here alive is to stick together."

"Your and Coulson's best chance of getting out of here is to not be anywhere near the fighting," She insisted. "You're both injured, he's too injured to fight. If you want to get him out of here alive then you'll do as I say. Head right out of the cell, up the stairs, two rights and then left out through the warehouse, I'll keep them off you."

"How many are you going to keep off us?" Coulson asked.

"Fifteen," She stated. "There might be a few more but I should be able to handle it. I'll catch up to you at the pickup point."

"Nat, that's suicide!" Clint declared, clearly distressed. "You don't have anything to prove to SHIELD, I don't care what anyone says. We should all try to get out together. You shouldn't have to die over this."

"That," Natasha glared at him, her finger pointing at Coulson. "is your best friend. Your only friend as far as I can tell. In about five minutes a couple of thugs are going to open that door and drag him out of here and they are going to kill him. Now I am telling you how you can save his life and I am telling you that I can deal with these guys on my own. Are you going to trust me?"

"Nat," Clint's voice trailed off desperately, glancing first at Coulson who couldn't hide his stunned expression and then to the redhead.

"You think that being powerful and in control means that you can't trust anyone," Natasha declared, her voice gentling. "You think that because of what I am I don't even know the meaning of the word. That's not strength, that's stupidity. It's not about never trusting anyone. It's about knowing who and when to trust, and not being such a coward that you're too afraid to do it."

"What if they take you out?" Clint stared back at her with a wounded expression.

"Then they'll have been incredibly lucky," she replied seriously. "Someone's going to get lucky eventually, Barton. Besides, you already know what's going to happen if they take me out; they're going to come after the two of you and kill you. I'm not naive, I know you're not being noble, you want me to stay with you because you think I'll be able to protect him longer if I stick with you." She jerked her head in Phil's direction and Clint flinched as if he'd been slapped.

"Why are you doing this?" Clint asked desperately.

"To be perfectly honest with you, I don't want to go back to Fury without my handler," Natasha admitted. "Do you honestly think anyone but you would go on a mission with me after something like that?"

"Romanov, I do not give a hell what anyone, Fury included, has to say about this," Phil ground out tersely, rubbing his battered wrists as he struggled to sit up. Clint was at his side in a moment, bracing him. "I do not throw my people to the wolves, it's a point of professional pride. Now we are getting out together or not at all."

"Phil, you're in no condition to fight," Clint declared worriedly. "You're injured, you're compromised..."

"Clint, I can handle these idiots on my own," Natasha stated firmly. "Are you going to trust me, or not?" Clint stared up at her with a nearly terrified expression. He sucked in an unsteady breath. Long seconds ticked by and then finally he nodded.

"Now you decide to be a team player Barton?" Phil demanded in exasperation as Clint carefully dragged him across the floor.

"Yes sir," Clint nodded as Phil let out a groan of pain.

"If we live though this, you're both going on report," Phil declared though gritted teeth.

"You sure as hell better live though this," Natasha declared with an evil smile, pressing against the wall as the sound of distant footsteps met their ears. "You both owe me in the pool."

* * *

That was where it began. Not easily, and not overnight but slowly, steadily, in small increments. Three weeks later, while Phil was still laid up with a broken leg Clint offered to go on a mission with Sitwell. Jasper was probably as surprised as Fury but the mission had played out well and Clint actually thanked Sitwell for having his back. Six months later he was taking assignments with covert operations teams and the problem asset was turning into SHIELD's golden boy.

Phil got all the credit.

He looked up as Steve held out the nearly empty box of supreme to him and he smiled his thanks, snagging another slice. Tony had joined the fray, a breadstick hanging out of his mouth like a cigar as they shambled their way though Pikmin Adventures. Bruce had got into the game of mocking Tony who was a fair player and (according to Bruce) an "adorable dancing flower."

Natasha was still attempting to appear resolutely disinterested, only sparing glances at the rest of the team.

Phil had tried at the time to lay Clint's improved team spirit squarely at Natasha's feet but she had completely blow him off and Fury had actually laughed at him once she'd left the room. He was pretty sure the Director believed him because Natasha's probationary paperwork had magically disappeared from her file.

She'd done the seeming impossible; turned SHIELD's most talented lone wolf into a team player.

If she'd stopped there Phil would still feel beholden to her for everything the Avengers had accomplished.

That was act one. Act two opened with a carefully orchestrated chance encounter with Stark just as he was in need of a new assistant. Natalie Rushman had him wrapped around her finger in under a minute.

* * *

"Post traumatic stress disorder," Phil read with an unsurprised expression.

"Hell, half of SHIELD has PTSD," Fury quipped, turing the page of the report. "The guy spent three months in a cave, plugged into a car battery. I'd call shenanigans if he wasn't warped."

"Mild agoraphobia, borderline pyromania, mild alcoholism," Phil read as if checking off boxes.

"Social anxiety disorder brought on by low self esteem?" Fury looked up from the report with an incredulous expression. "We're talking about Stark here, right?"

"You'll note that my preliminary psychological evaluations have a 97% confirmation rate by certified psychologists," Natasha pointed out with an unperturbed expression.

"So all that self important bullshit..." Fury's voice trailed off.

"Smoke screen," Natasha nodded. "He's very high functioning, I'll give him that. From what I've been able to gather he hasn't pursued any form of therapy since the death of his parents. He's more or less self treating, and reasonably successfully."

"That is impressive," Fury admitted grudgingly.

"So I take it you're recommending him for the initiative?" Phil asked, his lips quirking in the faintest touch of amusement. Natasha nodded.

"I'd go so far as to recommend him for team leader if your first choice continues to be... elusive." She offered.

"Easy there, Cheese," Nick declared as Phil bristled. He turned back to Natasha with a near condescending expression."You can't be serious."

"He makes tactically sound decisions. He thinks fast. He's routinely demonstrated a propensity for putting the safety of his people ahead of his own," Natasha shrugged. "And not at all in a martyring way. He's fully prepared to take a bullet for his team. You'll just have to be sure he sees it as his team."

"Would you follow him?" Phil asked drily.

"Without reservation," Natasha nodded firmly. Phil met her gaze with surprise. He hadn't really expected that response. Fury sighed, tossing the report aside.

"I was afraid you were going to say that," Nick rubbed the bridge of his nose. "Get him in here so I can kiss his ass and hope he says yes."

"You'll be needing this," Natasha declared, tossing a second report onto the desk.

"What's this?" Fury asked, scanning the first pages before handing the folder to Coulson and pinning Natasha with a frown.

"It's the recommendation report you're going to show to Stark," She answered with a shrug.

"Text book narcissism?" Phil blanched. "Self destructive... Tony Stark: Not recommended?" It was utterly scathing. probably one of the worst assessments he'd ever read in the history of his SHIELD career.

"If you want him in the initiative that's the report you'll show him," Natasha declared firmly.

"You just said he has self esteem issues a mile wide," Nick pointed out in irritation. "How is this going to help?"

"Because you do not tell Tony Stark he can't do anything," Natasha stated. "His determination is the only thing in the world bigger than his truck load of issues. You tell him he can't do something, he can't have something, he's not good enough and he will move heaven and earth to prove you wrong. You bring him in here and ask him to sign on and he'll turn you down flat. But if you tell him that it exists and he can't have it? He will do whatever it takes to wear you down. If you really do want him on board with this, that's the report you show him."

"What if you're wrong?" Phil asked with a frown. He wasn't exactly fond of Stark but whatever problems the guy had, Phil felt he was entitled to. The last thing he wanted was to be even partially responsible for breaking a man who'd put his life on the line to save half the planet. And Phil knew better than most that it's usually the smallest straw that breaks the camels back.

"I'm not wrong," Natasha insisted.

* * *

She had most definitely not been wrong. Tony Stark; Consultant was the most professional, most nose to the grindstone individual at SHIELD, a fact that Phil resented with a passion considering the title had been his for so long. Phil came to the conclusion that Tony just liked making other people look stupid, and making them look stupid because they weren't up to his level of intelligence wasn't enough of a challenge. Every one of Fury's requests was met with "Yeah, put that together in the bath last week, here, have some new fancy tech I made over breakfast." Against his better judgement Phil began to genuinely like the abrasive pain in the ass.

He'd even go so far as to agree that Stark would have made a decent team leader if they hadn't managed to find Rogers.

Phil slipped behind the bar to make himself a cup of coffee. Steve had scarfed down the last of his pizza like the kid he almost was and had jumped in to play Zelda Battle Quest. For the sake of challenge he was the one playing the archer instead of Clint.

He was a crack shot and Phil couldn't help but chuckle. Natasha had abandoned her book in favor of a slice of pizza, throwing him an amused look over Thor's head. Steve was, hands down, the best console gamer on the team, routinely mopping the floor with everyone, Tony included. Phil knew better than anyone it was all largely due to Natasha's influence. He'd witnessed their first tech lesson over a late night cup of coffee. A random encounter that had done more to ground Steve in the twenty-first century than weeks of SHIELD training.

* * *

Phil was not stalking Captain America, he wasn't. God he hoped he wasn't. Phil looked up from his paperwork, taking a sip of his coffee and letting his gaze trail across the commissary to where Steve Rogers was camped at a table in the corner, his eye flicking over his Starkpad in a pattern that suggested he was reading. His brow was furrowed in what could be anger, or possibly frustration, it was hard to say. Phil didn't really know the man.

It was late and Phil had wandered from his office to the commissary for coffee. The food at SHIELD wasn't bad, it wasn't four star but it was better than most of his military mess hall experiences. The coffee was downright excellent and was most of the reason he didn't bother to keep a coffee maker in his office. That often meant that his late hours were spent here in the dining hall, closer to the fuel. He was used to being alone here most nights apart from the kitchen staff. About twenty minutes previously Steve Rogers had wandered in, acquired his own cup of coffee and settled in the far corner near the window. And Phil had completely lost his train of thought.

Phil's childhood hero was even now scowling and rubbing his eyes by turns, looking for all the world as if he were about to pitch his tablet into the nearest wall.

A part of Phil wanted to get up, cross the room and offer assistance. The more logical part of him knew what a spectacularly stupid idea that was. He could already feel himself getting tongue tired from twenty feet away. He'd just have to wait until their assignments crossed paths. Realistically that couldn't be too long. It was a testament to how truly distracted he was that he never noticed the redhead until she was standing only inches from Roger's elbow.

"Something wrong, Captain?" Natasha asked, her voice holding that soft gentle tone that had grown so familiar. For the longest time Phil had thought it part of her carefully crafted mask, her projection of vulnerability putting her mark off their guard. He'd been only partially right. The sense of vulnerability, that was an affectation, but the tone, that was all natural. At her very core she was soft spoken and gentle and she wasn't the least afraid to be either because if you became a threat she could turn on a dime and eviscerate you.

"No ma'am," Steve sighed, rubbing the bridge of his nose with a frustrated sigh. Natasha let the faintest smile slip though.

"First of all, Captain, it's 'Agent' or 'Romanov' or even 'Natasha' if you're comfortable with that," She stated, her eyes dancing. "We're the same rank, technically." Steve stared up at her in stunned silence for a moment. His brain seemed to skip a few gears and then he bolted to his feet.

"I'm so sorry, Agent Romanov," He stated, blushing as he pulled out the chair beside him. "I was... would you care to sit down?" A bright smile spread across her lips and she leaned toward him, letting her palm rest on his arm.

"You're very sweet," she said gently. "And it's very considerate of you to pull out my chair for me. But these days it's something you'd only do if you were interested in a lady romantically." Steve's eyes widened slightly and he made to jerk back his hand as if he'd been burned but Natasha's fingers curled around his wrist, holding him fast.

"Just this once then?" she offered demurely. Steve hesitated a moment before nodding and she slid gracefully into the chair as he guided it to the table.

"I'm sorry about that," Steve huffed out a frustrated sigh, half collapsing in the chair beside her.

"You apologize too much," she stated. "Seventy years of cultural changes is a lot to catch up on. Now why don't you tell me why your eyebrows keep meeting to trade intelligence?" Steve gave her a gaping look for a moment before letting out an easy laugh.

"Is there a library nearby I can get access to?" he asked, his expression almost pleading.

"A library?" Natasha stared at him for just a moment. It wasn't strictly that she didn't see the appeal of libraries, she was quite fond of them herself, actually, but Steve Rogers had been in a world with cell phones and Youtube for barely two weeks, the painful fact was, he wasn't ready to be outside SHIELD on his own.

"I don't want to sound harsh," she said finally. "But I'm not sure you're equipped to navigate the modern world on your own just yet. If you're going stir crazy I can talk to Fury for you. I'd be glad to volunteer to take you out for some fresh air."

"It's not that," Steve shook his head, his cheeks coloring. He seemed to think a moment before giving her a sideways glance. "It is that, kind of, but not really. I have so much to catch up on, and the recommended SHIELD reading is painfully dry. I just wanted to... explore, find some books on my own, maybe delve into some popular fiction. Just... something to fill the hours." He finished the last bit lamely as if the admission pained him. Natasha's eye traveled from his brow, once more knitted in a frown, down the square set of his jaw and finally resting on his hands lying face down on the table, the well smudged glass of a Starkpad beneath his fingertips.

"Well if you're having trouble selecting titles from the ebook store I'd be happy to make suggestions," Natasha shrugged. "I mean, you can't have read out SHIELD's digital library already, there's quite a collection. Even if you have, you're entitled to some new literature, I'm sure we can get it authorized." Steve blinked at her with the stunned expression of someone who'd just been hit in the head with a brick.

"What?" he asked finally. Natasha stared back at him. Her lips puckered in a perturbed frown and she reached out, snagging the tablet from beneath his grasp and flicking it on.

She let out a string of expletives in Russian that Steve must have at least half understood because his ears turned red.

"What the hell is this?" she demanded with a scowl, holding the tablet out in front of him. Steve mouthed at her a moment and her expression softened, she let out a frustrated sound in the back of her throat before turning her attention back to the tablet. "Never mind, this is hardly your fault. Who gave you this thing?"

"Agent Davis," Steve offered hesitantly as her fingers flew over the surface of the pad.

"He's an idiot," she sighed. "He's supposed to be orienting you to modern tech, and he gives you this?"

"I was pretty impressed," Steve admitted, his face flushing. "There are about fifty books on there and it sends letters... er ... emalis."

"Yes," Natasha sighed. "but that's all it does. What is this, the kiddy setting?" Steve's blush deepened.

"Are these the only books he gave you to read?" she asked in surprise. Steve nodded. "You're a better man than me, Rogers, I'd be well into plotting my escape if they'd done this to me."

I um..." he gave her a sideways glance. "I thought about it." her smile of amusement returned.

"Where would I go, though?" he stated in frustration. Natasha laid the tablet on the table, her hand resting on his arm again.

"Captain, I'm going to tell you this, and if you repeat it, I'll deny it," she said softly. He nodded in understanding. "You're clearly not without resources. You could leave here any time you wanted to and I believe you'd manage to survive. I don't want to see you do that though because you seem like a good person, and nothing ruins a good person like being completely alone in the world. I've been at SHIELD a while now and it's not perfect, nothing is, but I do think they want to do good." Steve nodded his understanding.

"Now apart from firing Davis as your tech instructor let's see what we can do about this," she stated, her business like demeanor returning as she picked up the Starkpad. "How were you with tech while you were in the army?" Steve balked at the question. Most people worded it "before the accident" or "back before" as if it were a thousand years ago. To Steve it was only a couple of weeks and suddenly he didn't feel so out of place.

"I scored pretty well in my assessment tests before Project Rebirth," he admitted. "But I scored better afterward."

"And you hung out in Howard Stark's lab a lot," she added, nodding.

"How did you..."

"Everyone knows that, Rogers," she insisted, looking him in the eye and turing the pad toward him.

"Oh my god, what did you do to it?" He breathed out in a rush, his eyes widening.

"Don't worry, you're not going to get into trouble," She waved her hand dismissively. "I just unlocked it. When we're done going over all this, I'll show you how I did it and when Davis raises a fuss you can tell him you got bored and fiddled with it. He deserves the shame." Steve's cheeks turned pink and Natasha flashed him a teasing smile.

"Agent Romanov," Steve began hesitantly, offering her a shy appreciative smile.

"You know, I take it back," Natasha stated thoughtfully. "If we're off duty I think I'd really rather you called me Natasha."

"Natasha," he said, nodding. "Steve."

"All right, Steve," Natasha gave him her sweetest smile. "What have they told you about the internet?"

* * *

Natasha went to Fury the next morning and had Steve reassigned to a new instructor. They were all busy over the next few weeks but she took time in her off hours to take him out of SHIELD, to help him get used to the twenty first century. He adapted quickly and with Natasha's guidance he started to settle in to his new life, not as easily as any of them would have liked but the haunted look in his eyes that had the psych department so worried began to fade in increments.

Phil bit his lip to keep from chuckling, they'd roped Bruce into a game of Mario Chase, the irony wasn't lost on any of them at how good he really was at evading capture. Thor had started in on his second pizza, watching over Bruce's shoulder as Steve stole one of his slices. Natasha had taken up the job as incidental heckler, her occasional biting comment just enough to distract Tony from actually catching Bruce.

But then she'd always protected Bruce, and Phil could honestly say he didn't know why. That hadn't stopped once the Avengers had formed. Natasha wasn't just the one who convinced him to come in, she was the one who made sure he didn't go.

* * *

"How'd you get him to stay?" Phil asked curiously, his gaze drifting over the remains of the Hydra lab to where Dr. Banner was frowning pensively at one of the displays. It was Phil's first proper mission out with his entire team since being released from medical nearly a month ago. Well, the entire team minus Thor who was still on Asgard but his absence was planned. They'd had a few scrambles that portions of the team had taken care of, but this was the first time the situation had been serious enough to require a complete assemble. It had gone well overall and now they were busy securing everything before the erasure crew could come in. Stark looked up from the database he was carefully hacking his way into and followed his line of sight.

"Wasn't me," Tony shrugged as Phil combed through files on a nearby terminal. "I mean I'd like to take credit, I love to take credit."

"Yes you do," Phil nodded in amused agreement. It had taken him a while but Phil had warmed to Tony, enough to consider the man a friend. He'd liked Pepper instantly, her competence and loyalty were traits he admired even if he'd thought them misplaced when they'd first met. She'd easily drawn in his friendship with hardly any effort. He'd asked her once what she saw in the taciturn genius and she'd only smiled and said he'd have to figure it out on his own. Once he had, he'd been a bit chagrinned at ever asking.

"Hell knows I tried to talk him into coming to work for STARK industries," Tony shook his head, allowing his attention to wander only slightly to where Bruce worked, directing a team of SHIELD engineers. "He turned me down flat... twice. But the day we saw Thor off, Nat called me and asked if I'd mind putting Bruce up for a few days so she and Barton could lay down a trail into Canada to throw the army off."

"And you didn't have a problem with that," Phil pointed out more than asked.

"Hell are you kidding me?" Tony snorted. "I called her 'mom' and asked if I could keep him." Phil winced.

"Yeah," Tony continued shuddering. "I might have, totally accidentally, done it in kind of a whiny voice."

"How bad's the scar?" Phil asked seriously.

"I like to think of it as proof that I went up against the Black Widow and didn't die."

"Pepper likes to taunt you about it, doesn't she?" Phil gave him a knowing look.

"Like you wouldn't believe," Tony shook his head. "Anyway, I tried to talk him into staying; told him Ross would be looking for him somewhere else anyway, promised to mount laser canons in all the halls, gave him a really awesome lab, that kind of thing."

Phil let out a snort of amusement, leave it to Stark to talk about several million in technology as if he'd bought wine and chocolates.

"Looks like it worked," Phil observed. It had worried him. Banner had never been his concern, not really. He was aware that SHIELD was tracking him, aware that General Ross wanted him. That was most definitely not on Nick's acceptable list. Whatever else SHIELD might be guilty of as an organization, forced human experimentation was not on the table. But once Phil had met the man, had seen what he was actually like, he'd felt the faintest pricking of genuine concern. Ross would catch up to him eventually if he was unprotected and Phil had begun to be more worried over what would happen to Banner himself than the actual collateral damage.

"Well, he tried to make a couple of breaks," Tony acknowledged, pausing to run his fingers over his scalp. "But Romanov brought him back before he could actually get down the street. He hasn't tried it in a while."

"Excuse me?" Phil's brow furrowed but Tony seemed to miss the tell.

"Well the first time was only trying in the vaguest sense," Stark admitted, half distracted by the screen in front of him. He let out a sound that was probably meant to be victorious but really just came out exhausted. "He packed his bag and just walked out the front door early one morning while I was crashed in the lab. But Natasha was waiting for him at the cafe outside and that's all the farther he got." Phil's gaze strayed across the lab again just as Natasha's head popped up from underneath a stack of servers. She paused to ask Banner something that didn't cary across the room and he nodded before she dove back in, Bruce leaning over her shoulder.

Phil hadn't noticed it until just then but she'd stayed very close to Bruce from the moment he'd left the security of the shield support vehicle. They'd needed Dr. Banner on this one, not the Hulk, something that Phil would freely acknowledge made him even more proud of his team.

"Anyway," Tony continued with his customary nonchalance, his fingers flying over the keyboard. "I think being in one place too long makes him nervous. She seemed to have some idea about when he was planning to bolt and she just heads him off and talks him out of it. Hell, I think one time she was waiting for him in the elevator."

"So every time he's attempted to leave she's intercepted him?" Phil asked in confusion. Tony nodded.

"I'm not sure what she says to him exactly," Tony admitted with a shrug. "I kind of thought she was threatening him at first but he seems calmer afterwards so I figure it can't be that."

"I sincerely doubt that would work on Dr. Banner," Phil pointed out. Tony nodded in agreement. On the other side of the lab Natasha was subtly corralling the engineers away from Banner who'd begun to take on a slightly strained expression. And wasn't that ironic? Bruce was perfectly safe in a tower full of superheroes in the biggest city in America or a tiny technology ladened van in the middle of nowhere, but a room full of whiny tech-heads demanding his attention was too much for him.

"You're right about that," Tony agreed. "Whatever they talk about he comes back upstairs looking less tense." Phil only nodded in understanding. Natasha could be very persuasive if it was something she believed to be important.

"Damn decent of her too," Tony admitted only half grudgingly. "I mean, he doesn't scare me, I'm crazy. I'm also a selfish dick who likes having another bright shiny brain to bounce ideas off of." Phil tried desperately not to laugh.

"It'd be a shame to lose him," Phil agreed.

"I'm glad I'm not the only one who see that," Tony confessed. "It's not like any of this is his fault. It's a damn crime to waste intellect like that."

"Hey, Stark," Natasha called from across the lab, leaning gently against Bruce's shoulder as the pair of them studied a readout together. "You need to come take a look at this!"

"Yeah, yeah, don't get your knickers in a twist," he shouted back. "I'm coming! Phil see what you can do with this data, I'll be right back." Tony hustled across the lab, sidling up beside Bruce and prodding him in the ribs. Natasha's hand snaked out behind them both, cuffing Tony in the back of the head.

"Ow!" he groused.

"Keep your hands to yourself!" Natasha snapped. "What are you, five? Didn't your over-paid nanny teach you that it's not ok to hurt someone just because you like them?" Bruce stifled a laugh glancing between them as Natasha nudged his shoulder in gentle encouragement.

* * *

It had taken time, but Bruce had settled in and found his place. The soft spoken scientist even let his guard down on occasion outside the tower. These days his anxiety more often led to him seeking out companionship rather than running from it.

Phil closed his laptop, locking his files in his briefcase as he turned on his stool, leaning back against the bar. All five of them were shouting at each other in a game of Metroid Blast as Natasha watched them, curled up in the middle of the sofa. For super heroes they were absolutely appalling at coordinating their attack. Thor was flying the ship, moving back and forth across the room as he turned the tiny screen to target their attackers.

"Are you trying to shoot me?!" Steve teased, playfully shoving Tony who only grinned.

"Guys! I'm... getting killed over here." Bruce stated. making a run for it.

"Dude, get back here!" Clint whined. "Thor, why don't you have my six?"

"I am stuck again," Thor frowned, toggling the controls furiously in an effort to enter the tunnel.

"Who let him fly?" Tony demanded in exasperation.

"Play nice," Natasha admonished, kicking the back of Tony's leg with her toes so that his knee buckled.

"I cannot find my way," Thor stated, holding the controller out at arms length and turning in circles.

"Dude, you're upside down!" Clint groaned.

"How is that even possible?" Bruce demanded, chuckling.

"Thor, stop walking around the room," Steve insisted, stifling a laugh. "It doesn't help."

"It does help!" Thor insisted.

"How do you ever get anywhere, you have no sense of direction!" Clint rolled his eyes.

"The Allfather alone knows, my friend," Thor replied. Natasha covered her mouth with her hand, her eyes dancing merrily. Phil wasn't nearly so successful at hiding his amusement.

Keeping tabs on Thor bordered on the impossible in the best of circumstances. It had made him a particularly prickly asset for SHIELD to get their hands on, and they probably never would have managed it without Natasha.

* * *

"Is she going to come down?" Clint asked, one eyebrow arching as he stared up at the roof of the old car dealership.

"Nope," Darcy pushed her glasses up her nose and folded her arms over her chest, a long-suffering sigh escaping her lips.

"Did she get my message?" Phil asked, his brow furrowing in concern. Darcy made to answer but her phone beeped and she fished it from her pocket.

"Apparently she's declining your... extremely generous offer," Darcy stated uncomfortably, glancing at Phil uneasily. Clint leaned over her shoulder covertly.

"Damn!" He declared, a grin spreading over his face. "is that anatomically possible?" Darcy shot him a withering look, shielding her phone from his prying eyes.

"Barton," Phil snapped warningly.

"Seriously, you're pretty limber, sir," Clint grinned. "I'll lay odds you could do it."

"I'll take that bet," Darcy nodded.

"Ms. Lewis," Phil let out a sigh that was almost painful. "It's very important that I speak with Doctor Foster as soon as possible, we've have a situation." Darcy's phone dinged again and she glanced down at the screen, wincing.

"Oh that's just mean," Clint declared as Phil stared at the screen of Darcy's phone with a stunned expression. He flashed a wicked smile. "I think I like this girl."

"Her boyfriend's apparently kind of a god," Darcy reminded.

"Her boyfriend is apparently not on the planet," Clint pointed out. Darcy shrugged.

"Don't you have somewhere to be?" Phil asked in exasperation.

"Technically I'm off duty," Clint declared with a smug grin.

"The bar does great hot wings," Darcy suggested, looking up at him with an appraising expression.

"Which bar?" Clint asked, looking around.

"There's only one here," she replied.

"Go," Phil snapped. Clint nestled his hand in the crook of Darcy's arm.

"Buy me a drink, sailor?" He asked.

"Buy your own, G-man," she answered, clearly unimpressed. Clint blinked back at her.

"I changed my mind," He stated, turning to Phil. "I like this one better."

"Leave before I kill you with a binder clip," Phil ordered. Clint gave Darcy's arm a squeeze and she laughed.

"Come on, pretty boy," She stated, patting his hand and pulling him down the street. "Show me what you can do with a Jägerbomb."

"If I go AWOL, sir, you can find me in Vegas!" Clint shouted over his shoulder as Darcy tugged him along, a delighted grin on his face. Phil pinched the bridge of his nose with a wince and a sigh.

They needed Foster on this. In retrospect they probably shouldn't have confiscated her research. Of course he'd pointed that out to Fury in the briefing but he'd been overruled. Phil was no idiot and on that score he was consummately aware of two important facts: true genius was very, very rare, and most people never recognized it when they saw it.

Phil did. He could suss out a lone genius in a room full of Harvard degrees, and Doctor Foster was a genius. A genius whose help they needed.

A genius who was, at this very moment huddled on the roof of a dilapidated car dealership like a waif at the side of the road.

He craned his neck back squinting up at her in the gathering darkness, wrapped in an ugly blanket and a battered laptop resting on her feet as she hunched over the keyboard.

"Doctor Foster, if I could have a moment of your time?" He shouted. He frowned as the mishmash of equipment beside him fizzled and sparked and he let out half a yelp as an arc of electricity shot out from it, singeing his sleeve.

"Ow," he observed, taking two good side-steps away from it before looking back up at the roof. He wasn't sure it was possible to hunch smugly but if it were, Jane Foster would have managed it. Something told him that hadn't been random chance.

"Rough couple of days?" Phil glanced over his shoulder to find Natasha ambling up the street in a pair of dusty worn blue jeans and a dingy gray hoodie.

"You could say that," Phil shrugged, turning his eyes back to the roof.

"Damn it's cold here at night!" Natasha complained, rubbing her arms as she followed his gaze. "How is she not a popsicle?"

"What are you doing here anyway?" Phil asked. "did Stark blow himself up?"

"He's back on track," she shrugged. "Fury told me to take a few days off. He owes you $20 by the way."

"So it was Hammer?" he asked, she nodded and he allowed himself a satisfied smile. "You got down time and you came here?"

"What would I do with myself on a vacation without my boys?" Natasha asked fondly.

"Clint's that way," Phil suggested, pointing down the street. "Just follow the sound of beer pong and bad life choices."

"You let him go carousing around a one horse town unsupervised?" Natasha demanded with what, for her, was a scandalized expression. Her eyebrow twitched.

"He made a new friend," Phil admitted in answer.

"The last time he made a new friend, you had to borrow bail money off of me," she pointed out.

"That trend doesn't appear to be shifting," Phil shook his head in resignation. They stood side by side in silence a while, staring at the figure on the roof as stars began to twinkle to life in the sky above them.

"Do you want me to get this?" Natasha offered finally.

"I," Phil shook his head but she interrupted him.

"You took her stuff, Phil," she stated flatly.

"It wasn't my call," the faintest hint of defensiveness crept into his tone. "I gave it back."

"You took her stuff and now you need her cooperation," Natasha added, pinning him with a pointed glare. "You do not take a lady's stuff and then show your face to her again. Do the words "hell" and "fury" mean anything to you?" He let out a sigh, finally nodding and Natasha zipped her hoodie up to her chin, tucking her hair back from her face. He was about to tell her that Doctor Foster had locked the door to the roof behind her when Natasha got a run up and sprang lightly into the air, grasping the edge of the roof overhang and swinging herself up. Phil shook his head, a smile playing on his lips as she pulled at her hoodie, drawing her hands into her sleeves and tucking them under her arms before shuffling nosily across the roof in Doctor Foster's direction.

"Who the hell are you?" Jane Foster's voice crackled over Natasha's com as Phil watched the redhead curl up in a shivering ball just a few feet from the doctor.

"I'm Nat," she shrugged. "Look, I know you don't want to talk to me but my boss sent me up here so can you, I don't know, make it look like I tried to lean on you for fifteen minutes just so I don't get fired?" Phil bit his lip to hold in his laughter. Jane Foster was looking Natasha over with a half sympathetic expression.

"They wouldn't really fire you, would they?" she asked shrewdly.

"Probably not," Natasha admitted with a self depreciating smile. "It'll look awful on my performance review." Foster let out a snort of a laugh.

"And I kind of almost got my last assignment accidentally killed," she added, a thoughtful expression forming on her face. "And I completely failed to kill the one before that."

"Rough week," Foster observed, less than compassionately.

"You have no idea, Doctor," Natasha nodded.

"You can have ten minutes, and it's Jane," Foster sighed, turning back to her laptop. "You don't look like the rest of the MIB, what's with that? I thought they were surgically attached to their suits."

"I'm supposed to be on leave," Natasha shrugged easily, tossing her long red curls over her shoulder. "I swung by here to pick up my friend but he's kind of busy, apparently."

"Busy getting smashed with my research assistant?" Jane asked in mild curiosity.

"That definitely sounds like him," Natasha nodded, only barely smiling. Jane struggled to hide her grin.

"So my boss offered you a very lucrative contract," Natasha pointed out, giving Jane a hesitant look.

"Your boss also made off with my favorite sensor array while I was eating pancakes," Jane snapped, tapping at the keyboard.

"I'm not going to make excuses for him," Natasha shook her head. "He should know by now; pancakes are sacred."

"I'm so stupid," Jane let out a frustrated growl, shoving the laptop aside and pulling her knees to her chest.

"That doesn't exactly look like math for stupid people," Natasha observed, studying the screen with a pensive frown.

"No I mean all of this," Jane ran her fingers through her hair, resting her forehead on her knees. "I'm letting myself completely fall for a guy I barely know and he's on another planet. Another planet!"

"I hear he's hot," Natasha remarked. Jane looked up at her with a gaping expression.

"What am I doing?" Jane demanded with a whimper.

"Looks to me like you're hell bent on a second date with a guy who made a damn good impression,"

"Maybe there was something there and maybe if he was here," Jane's voice trailed off painfully and she wrapped her arms around her middle with a miserable expression. "but he's not coming back. The bridge is closed and I'm stupid for looking and I'm stupid for pining for someone I don't even know. There is no such thing as love at first sight, you can't have feelings for some stranger you've just met."

"I wouldn't say that," there was the faintest hint of hesitation in Natasha's voice and Phil frowned, trying to make out the expression on her face in the darkness. Jane turned to look at her incredulously.

"You kill people for a living and you're a hopeless romantic?" she demanded disbelievingly.

"Romance is a fairy tale," Natasha shook her head, and for the first time since she had clambered onto the roof she actually sounded like herself. Phil tried not to read too much into that. "I only meant that sometimes people just connect and there's no way to explain it."

"That is incredibly wishful thinking," Jane sighed, a sad smile curling her lips.

"I met a guy once," Natasha shrugged. "I was in a bad place, my own fault. Five minutes after I met him I was putting my whole life in his hands. My whole future, everything. I didn't even know him. People talk about love like its so extraordinary. Any fool can trust someone with their heart. It's when you trust them with your life that you really know what it means to believe in someone."

"It's still stupid," Jane insisted, brushing tears from her cheeks.

"Did he let you down?" Natasha asked seriously.

"No," Jane shook her head.

"Did he lie to you?"

"I thought everything he was telling me was a lie," Jane admitted, her wistful smile returning. "But it was all true." Natasha hummed in the back of her throat and they sat in silence for a while.

"I'm going to get hurt," Jane stated as if it were a confession.

"How is that different from normal?" Natasha asked curiously.

"What do you mean?"

"Aren't you just going to get hurt anyway?" Natasha rubbed the cold from her hands. "What exactly is there in life worth having that doesn't hurt you eventually?" Jane stared off into the dark horizon, a hundred thousand stars shining down on them from a moonless sky.

"That is a very good point," she admitted reluctantly.

"Look," Natasha frowned. "I'm going to be straight with you. We need your boyfriend back, and you want your boyfriend back. The way I see it we want the same thing and maybe if we work together we can get it."

"I am not working for SHIELD," Jane snapped. "I control my research! And I've got a very good job that pays very well and that I don't have to worry about people taking my discoveries and destroying the world with them!"

"Your laptop might have been on the Mayflower," Natasha stated, pointing at it hesitantly.

"Your ten minutes are up," Jane informed, snatching the laptop up and cradling it to her chest protectively.

"Ok, you don't want to work for the government, I can respect that," Natasha insisted. "Would you consider taking their grant money?" Jane's dark, menacing, glower eased a fraction.

"Grants for experimental astrophysics don't exist," Jane replied resignedly. "I know, they told me when I applied for them."

"We have a slightly different application process," Natasha declared, picking at the sleeve of her hoodie. Jane stared ahead blankly for a long moment.

"Can you actually do that?" she asked skeptically.

"Technically, no," Natasha shrugged. "but I can go back to my boss and tell him if he wants Thor back here any time soon he'll give you a nice bank account, no questions asked."

"And he'd do that?" Jane demanded as if it were far and away the most unbelievable thing she'd ever heard. Considering the woman had kissed a Norse god and been nearly blown up by a giant alien robot just a few days before, that was certainly saying something.

"If we gave you a big roll of money would you spend every last dime of it trying to get to Thor?" Natasha asked seriously. Jane bit her lip as if trying not to answer.

"Yes," she admitted finally with a groan, allowing her head to sink to her knees again.

"That's what I thought," Natasha nodded. "You've got it bad."

"I'm going to throw you off my roof now," Jane stated, half whimpering.

"I'm going to go talk to my boss about your swiss bank account," Natasha nodded, standing to her feet and stretching, cat like.

"Who are you?" Jane demanded in bewilderment.

"Just another pretty face," Natasha shrugged, she reached down and grasped the edge of the roof rolling off and landing neatly on her feet as Jane let out a gasp.

"That's what you call handling it?" Phil demanded drily as she dusted off her hands.

"Mission accomplished," Natasha stated. "Buy her a new computer, she'll find blondy for you."

"Do you really expect Director Fury to go along with this?" Phil asked as they turned, walking down the street toward the bar.

"He'll go along with it if he wants her help," Natasha shrugged.

"I need a drink," Phil sighed.

"Well I don't have enough cash to bail you both out so you better limit yourself," she informed.

* * *

Fury had given Jane her funding and Jane had, in turn, brought Thor back to earth. And if the situation had mostly to do with the fact that Thor wanted to be on earth, no one mentioned that. Taking care of Jane had made him very appreciative of SHIELD and very ready to work with them. Phil suspected that was Natasha's motivation all along.

"All right boys, fun time's over," Natasha declared, taking the controller from Thor and waving a hand at the pile of pizza boxes on the table. "Time to clean up your mess."

"Yes, mom," Tony stated bitingly, letting out a squawk as Steve wrapped an arm around his neck, tugging him along, grinning as Clint snickered.

"I'll make the popcorn," Bruce offered, shuffling toward the kitchen.

"You're quiet tonight," Natasha observed, queuing up Fruit Cart. Phil shrugged watching the stylus in her hand trace across the screen in an elegant sweep and he glanced up at the TV to watch in fascination as she hit every target. She never seemed to miss.

But that was what she did. In the kitchen Tony and Clint were trash talking each other as Thor and Steve played trash can basketball with the pizza boxes, Bruce getting in the occasional rib at everyone's expense. He wonder if they even realized how much they owed to the only girl in their boy band.

"Natasha," Thor trundled into the rec room dragging the industrial garbage bag like the weight of a body. "Anthony would like to know what you wish to drink."

"I'll have a Guinness," she called over her shoulder. Thor nodded, dragging the trash down the hall to the garbage shoot. Natasha spared a glance in Phil's direction as if to remind him she hadn't forgotten him. He smiled.

"Just enjoying the show," He remarked shaking his head as she cleared the level with perfect execution.


End file.
